Festival
After a big battle between “what if” and myself, I finally sat down to write. Before I start, I want to make it clear that this writing is not argumentative. I am writing this solely because I do not want these thoughts and emotions of mine to get diminished over time. I will neither question what is right or wrong nor interpret the truth or deception. I just want to share a few moments that I felt were worth sharing and some disturbing incidents that I encountered at this festival. Yes, this is solely the point of view of a woman about the grand festival in her hometown.
Unlike other days, these few days of the year will be different in my locality. Colorful lights, vibrating drummers, little shops, a random parade of women carrying holy vessels, at least a thousand humans on the road late at night, and it is this time of the year the God strolls the streets in their chariots or palak. Nothing could stop my citizens from celebrating and worshipping the woman idol. Not rain, scorching sun, or the deadly virus restrictions. I am sorry, I am not going to follow a timeline here. I will keep writing whichever comes to my mind first and second and third…
Unnoticeable, I stood somewhere at the edge of the circled crowd to look at the boys dancing to the rhythm of the drums. The sound from the drums was enthralling that I couldn’t stop my feet from tapping to the flow of the music. I think it was not only me but almost every woman in the crowd who had to control this desire created by the sound. I envied the liberty of those men who danced in the streets.
The subtle envy in me was distracted by a bald man who suddenly blocked my view with his brick-sized smartphone. He blocked my view completely. Helpless, I decided to look at the dancers through the screen he was holding high above his head. But, instead of the view of the crowd, I found an old man and woman peeping at me. No! They were looking at this celebration through the video call. I lost words. How can someone say technology distances humans? I saw this smart device bringing two humans closer. Maybe the old couple was not in this town, or maybe they were on the next street unable to walk. Maybe it was this man’s parents or in-laws or even friendly old neighbors. But I will never forget this white hair lady on the screen displaying her sparkling teeth holding hands with her husband, and watching the bustle.
I am not sure of the tradition of this historical practice of hurting oneself to please God. I get chills whenever I see someone pierced with the holy tridents and spears through their mouth and skin. I could see two things in these aggressive forms of prayer. One the stupidity. How stupid can someone be thinking their life would change by hurting themselves? If one wants to get married, get a good job, and settle debts, then all they have to do is work towards it. Instead, I always think after all these years of civilization, what makes these species hold on to these types of practices? What else it can be other than the second thing, Hope! The hope that someone is listening to my worries, that someone will solve my problems, and the hope that this deity beautifully craved in the stone will perform miracles in my life.
The festival happened for almost a week, and every night we went to stroll on the streets. What is a complete celebration without glimpses of the parent generation sharing their memories of how it used to be in their times? My mom was baffled at the big lights, and the rap songs played for God. She got excited every time looking at the chairs for the spectators to comfortably sit and enjoy the orchestral performances. Each time we crossed the stage, she told me how they used to bring a mat from home to sit on the ground and watch the dance performances. A bunch of colorful lights changing to the pulse of music, a gang of boys wearing sunglasses like the hero from Beast movie, and the water pumping out from the head of Lord Shiva were all enough to get my mom excited. I envied how simple her happiness was, yet beautiful. Isn’t it?
Is this all about what I wanted to write? Maybe I forgot a few other scenes, or they don’t hold much importance that I had already forgotten them. But how can I forget the fear I experience every time in the crowd? The fear of a stranger who would invade my body amid hundreds of people. Do not worry, I am not going to end this piece of writing with a #Metoo hashtag. If the above happy incidents had to be shared, I feel I should not leave this emotion too. Fortunately, nothing wrong happened to me this time, but every time walking in a crowd makes me feel uncomfortable, scared, vulnerable, and dusts through a few deep secret memories that I want to forget.
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